


The Knowledge, the Truth, and the Love

by Sab



Category: Chronicles of Prydain - Lloyd Alexander
Genre: (Uploaded by Punk), Canon - Book, F/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:32:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sab/pseuds/Sab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Prince of Don learns that what is missing is not necessarily lost, and that sometimes it is the role of the warrior to surrender. (Uploaded by Punk, from Yuletide.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Knowledge, the Truth, and the Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox/gifts).



> Would absolutely not have been possible without general jinjur and Christina Rossetti. Thanks also to Miss Pryss, Punk, the sekrit Prydain filter, and Shoemoney Haus. And especially to the moderators who do such a tremendous job with this insanity. This was the best prompt I could have asked for, and this was a sheer pleasure to write and live in for a couple months. Thanks, darthfox! I hope it's what you wanted.

In the long, late shadows of summer dusk, a riderless mount made her way from Medwyn's valley, moving swiftly and silently through the woods beyond the Free Commots, just to the west of the River Ystrad. Her master, Prince Gwydion of the House of Don, was busily at work tending his fire, but he came to his feet when the mare broke through the bracken. He leaned in to let her snuff against him affectionately, nuzzling at him with her big strong head. Her huge eyes were troubled.

"Our fears are founded," Gwydion murmured, not quite a question.

Melyngar whickered and dipped her head. "Very well," Gwydion said. "Achren's guard brought the babe this way; Medwyn's menagerie has confirmed it. And thus our quest is sealed."

Melyngar whickered again and then took a few steps to where Gwydion had hung a pouch of sweet oats. Darkness blanketed the forest, but for the glow of Gwydion's small fire, and as the night pulled slowly toward grey dawn, Gwydion stared into its flickering depths and considered his fate.

Spring had scarcely begun to warm the frost on the grass, and the smart green shoots of early leaves were only just unfurling on the slender fingers of waving branches when Angaharad, Queen of the House of Llyr, called upon the Sons of Don.

"Please," she implored. "My baby girl..."

When Angaharad's petitions dissolved into tears, Gwydion moved to speak with her first sister, Queen Teleria of Mona.

"This has devastated her," Teleria whispered. "The whole court's in disarray -- the King refuses to speak, certain it's his fault, somehow. The poor duckling. I'd better make sure someone sees to it he's fed and gets out of that gloomy old bedroom from time to time."

"The child --" Gwydion nudged, kindly.

"Ah, yes, of course. The babe Eilonwy, not yet three years old but to hear her talk! She's a bright one. And that look about her!" Teleria shook her head with rueful affection. "Not the kind of child you'd want to leave any valuable objects around, anyway. And mind your Ps and Qs, too."

Gwydion smiled, but his heart ached in sympathy. "I often wish I were as wise as an old friend of mine, he would know what to do about such matters."

Teleria blinked, confused. "Matters?" She asked. "There is only the matter of returning the child to her parents, who are absolutely drowned in worry."

Gwydion rose to his feet, and turned to address the entire retinue.

"I am at your service." He bowed gracefully to the assembly. "And as far as it lies with in my power to do so, I promise to return your daughter to your keeping."

He turned to leave, but a hand reached for his robe. Angaharad.

"Yes, your highness?"

"Take care of her," Angaharad said. "She's a gift. To all of us."

Angharad's words echoed with import in Gwydion's mind, as he sat gazing into the small fire, teasing at fragments of knowledge, prophecy and portent. They hinted at possibilities the great Sorcerer Dallben had only late begun to whisper, passages in the Book of Three that suggested a new time was coming for Prydain, that they would soon be out from under the dark, terrifying shadow of Annuvin.

Aside from Gwydion and the High King Math, Angaharad herself, and Dallben, only one other knew of the prophecy in the Book of Three. _Achren._ Queen of the Dark Forces, twice exiled from Annuvin, she now held menacing but meager court in Spiral Castle, and that was where Gwydion must go.

"Sleep, old girl," He murmured to Melyngar. "Tomorrow we present ourselves at Spiral Castle."

And so they did, at first break of dawn. Gwydion gave his chin an extra scrape, just in case, and he combed his hair before tying on his robe and mounting his mare. Camp they left behind. Either it would be there when they returned for it or it wouldn't, and either was preferable to being caught in Spiral Castle with several other treasures of the House of Llyr, an letter from the High King Math himself, and a cache of weapons more suited an army of sixteen or twenty than this ragtag warrior and his single mare.

Centuries before, Spiral Castle had been among the highest courts in Prydain, second only to the house of Pryderi in the west. The Sons of Don had considered Spiral Castle a friendly port and staunch ally. The rule of King Rhitta had changed all of that. He had gone mad, closing off his court and retreating into the castle, lost in malevolent delusions and building upon the castle itself until the twisting menace of its new architecture mirrored the very shapes of his madness. Ill-favored since, the castle was abandoned, and thus it sat stubbornly for years, mouldering and overgrown with moss. Following her exile from Annuvin, Achren had considered it a haven, and well-met; Gwydion thought it as dark and untrustworthy as the enchantress herself.

"That poor child," Gwydion mused, halting Melyngar on the crest just before the pass to Spiral Castle. The sun was low in the sky, but there was an hour or so of light yet. Probably time to get in, get the girl, and slip out under the cover of darkness.

"You keep out of sight, old girl," he said, scratching the mare on the shoulder and leaning into the side of her face. She snuffed, but obliged. Gwydion hooked her lead over a branch, and removed a few objects from her saddlebag -- a knife and the decree from High King Math, ordering the child's return to her House at Caer Colur -- which he tucked into his sword belt.

"I don't know how long this will take," he said, peering at the sun. "The child could be asleep, for all I know. I might not get out till morning."

Melyngar snorted disapprovingly.

"Be content," said Gwydion, making his way to the ledge where he'd enter the pass to Spiral Castle. "You're standing in delicious breakfast right now. How many of us can say the same?"

Melyngar snorted again, but affectionately.

Gwydion clamored down the ledge, into the narrow pass that led to Spiral Castle.

Already it was darker, and Gwydion wished he'd brought a torch; the pass wound violently and the walls were steep and rocky. And then, there he was, at the steps and confronting an enormous iron door.

He rang the bell, and presently a skinny, sinister-looking man, bent so nearly in half that his shoulders hung at his waist and his head craned up unpleasantly over a flabby back. "Introduce yourself," the man demanded.

"I am Gwydion, warrior of the House of Don, here on a mission for our kinsmen, the House of Llyr. I seek an audience with Achren."

"Name the mission," the hunched-over fellow squeaked.

Gwydion sighed. "I speak to Achren alone," he said, keeping a tight control on his anger at the man's insolent manner. "And even were that not the case, I still disdain to share secrets of the royal court to a man who cannot meet my eyes."

"Always so quick to prejudice," came the liquid voice of Achren herself, sliding close enough to Gwydion to tuck in right beside him. He coughed.

"This is Yogg," Achren indicated the drooping man. "He's quite loyal, and I've never once heard him complain about the interminable ache he must have in his back from all that _looking up_ all the time to talk to obscenely tall individuals like yourself. So you see where he might deserve an apology, if for no other reason than that the fact that he can't meet your eyes is no fault of his own, other than a failure of anatomy."

Gwydion turned to Yogg. "I spoke out of turn," he said. "I am truly sorry."

Yogg huffed. "May I shut the door, milady?"

Achren dispatched him to do so, and then took a step back and turned to Gwydion as if to assess him from a distance. "Warrior's garb hardly befitting a Son of Don," she clucked. "Leather armor, shabby wovenwork, a patched cloak, and a sword that looks like it's never seen a whetstone. Poorly suited for a court such as mine, would you not agree?"

"You know well that I am here for the family of the House of Llyr, who miss the child you stole from them. If you'll bring her to me, I'll take her home and we'll be on our way so you and Yogg can carry on unmolested."

Achren's face changed, and it was a moment before Gwydion realized that the woman was smiling. "And if you care to take off your ragged coat, I'm certain someone can make sure it's repaired for you. You will, of course, have you remove your sword." Her features were striking, beautiful even, but her smile belied a wickedness underneath, as well as a deep fear that made Gwydion himself shudder.

"You carry your weapons with you, Enchantress," Gwydion said. "Is it not similarly fair I should carry mine?"

She turned around. "You may keep the wretched dagger in your boot, and that, whatever it is you've got tucked in your belt there. Leave the big blade with Yogg, and your coat, if you'd like."

Achren turned to cross the great entrance hall, and Gwydion quickly shed both his sword and his cloak, pocketing the packet with the letters. He rushed to catch up.

She led him into a cozy antechamber that Gwydion was forced to admit was positively snug, with a pair of velvet chaises covered in plump pillows, piles of thick furs and skins on the flagstone floor and low-hanging torches that flickered and filled the room with a warm, intimate glow that seemed richer for the multitudinous colors of glass that tiled the windows and reflected the lamplight in rich blues, greens, and golds. Achren seated herself gracefully on a chaise and beckoned for Gwydion to join her.

"No, thank you," the warrior replied, remaining in the doorway.

Achren smiled again, and this time it seemed almost genuine, which made Gwydion uneasy. "Watch, warrior of Don," she said. She picked up a small golden bell and rang it twice. Moments later, a wizened woman who could have been Yogg's grandmother came into the room with a tall, golden-haired babe in tow. Eilonwy.

"Milady," croaked the woman.

"Thank you, Lorga," Achren said, but her eyes were fixed on Eilonwy's. The crone bowed, a movement that looked for a moment as though it would more likely end in her face-planting onto the flagstones, but presently she straightened to her natural arch, turned, and left the room. Achren continued to beam at the child, who looked as pleased to see the enchantress as Achren did to see the child. Eilonwy trotted to Achren's knee and clambered onto the chaise beside her. When she saw Gwydion, her face clouded with fear, and she reached a pudgy hand out to grip Achren's slim fingers.

"This is Prince Gwydion, war leader of the House of Don," Achren whispered. "He is a friend."

Gwydion coughed. "Young princess," he said. "It is an honor." He dropped to one knee, better to meet the babe's eye. "I'm here because your parents miss you terribly and wish your return. I can only imagine you miss them too."

Eilonwy blinked up at Achren. "Must I go back?" she asked. "I want to stay here with you."

Achren tousled the girl's crown of red-gold curls. "You may do whatever you wish," Achren said. "But let us, out of courtesy, hear the good Prince out."

Eilonwy pouted, but said nothing.

"Show him your bauble, my child," Achren said. "The Prince would love to see it."

Eilonwy reached into the folds of her cloak and drew out a dull sphere that looked for all the world like the knob from the end of a brass bedpost. As the orb rested in the cradle of Eilonwy's hands it immediately began to glow with a warm, golden aura that grew brighter as the child giggled and rolled the bauble around between her palms.

"Now might you take a seat?" Achren smiled up at Gwydion. Gwydion sat down, on the opposite side of the chamber, and watched with great interest as the child played with the bauble, coaxing the magic glow from its golden depths.

"The Pelydryn," said Gwydion.

"You recognize it," Achren said. "Good. Then you understand the power this child possesses."

Gwydion was now most distressed, and confused, and all in all this siege was not going the way he'd planned. He thought of Melyngar, happily munching at her breakfast, and spared a moment to envy. "I understand that you have bewitched the babe," he said, finally. "And I have no tolerance for dark magic, yours or Arawn's."

Achren's face clouded, and Gwydion could swear he saw regret in her eyes, and embarrassment, but they flashed past as quickly as they came and were replaced with the fire of her wicked pride. "I taught Arawn all he knows of magic," Achren spat. "And though he may use it for dark means, that is no fault of mine. I alone understand that magic comes from within, and can be neither dark nor light but for the user's intentions. And I swear to you, Prince of Don, I have not bewitched the child any more than a tutor might enthrall any pupil with promises of knowledge, magic and mystery."

Eilonwy had palmed the Pelydryn and was considering it. Then she closed her eyes and the light in the bauble winked out, and she tucked it away into the folds of her robe and returned her attention to Achren. "Will this man be taking part in our lessons?" she asked, leaning close.

Achren smiled, the pride in her eyes taking on an affectionate tone. "Her thirst for knowledge is unquenchable," she said. Then, to Eilonwy, "Why don't we show Prince Gwydion what we've learned?"

Eilonwy's childish features grew grave with thought for a moment, but then she leaped down from the chaise and stood in the center of the room, her small face tight with concentration, her eyes closed. Slowly, she raised her arms, and the room began to warm, and flicker, and Gwydion could smell the sweetness of burning cedar and pine, the homey smells of roasted apples, chestnuts and holiday meats. He felt at once sated, comfortable and safe, and he leaned back on his sofa and closed his eyes, and he was five years old at his father's knee, playing in front of a flickering fire.

When he opened his eyes, the feeling of hominess had gone, but Eilonwy stood before him, her chin proudly upturned, beaming.

"You see," said Achren. "She possesses the power within her, as her mother and father did before her, and as long as her heart is pure, her magic will always be rooted in goodness."

"That must frustrate you interminably," Gwydion commented dryly.

Achren smiled again, almost winsome, and Gwydion found he was almost getting used to the sight. "I'll admit," she sighed. "I might have sought a more, shall we say, ambitious pupil to shape in my image." Then she sighed, a low, heavy sound. "But you and I both know, Prince of Don, that our destinies lie not in our own ambitions, but in the path laid out by the Book of Three. And that the land shall not be inherited by the likes of you and me, but by a one very like this child here."

Achren reached out and folded Eilonwy into an embrace, and at once Gwydion saw she truly loved the child, and just as quickly he knew he could no more take Eilonwy from her destiny than he himself could venture from the path he had sworn his life to follow. And when he met Achren's eye he realized that he and the old enchantress were more similar than he would like to admit.

"Indeed," she said, as if reading his mind. "We are the same, you and I."

And she seemed sad when she said it, and Gwydion was sad too.

"We must talk," Gwydion said.

"Yes," agreed Achren. She moved to sit beside him, and he resisted the urge to recoil from her. But indeed, he found the urge quite easy to resist.

"I will not leave here without the child," he said evenly. "You know that I cannot."

Achren smiled. "How much do you know of what is to come?" she asked.

Gwydion's mind again touched on something Dallben had mentioned, long ago. Something he could only scarcely remember. "Only that we are in control of it," he replied. "Our fate is what we make of it, and no prophecy binds us."

Her chuckle was low and warm. "How easy it would be, were it so," she sighed. "And for the most part you are right, in that human beings are blessed with the freedom to make our own mistakes and shape out our own destinies. And yet, for the world to remain in balance, great men and women must still rise up against darkness, and empires must rise and fall, for such is the way of things."

"A lad of no parentage..." Gwydion mused.

"And the last enchantress, yes," murmured Achren. "So Dallben has shown you the Book of Three."

"Told me in riddle, more exactly," Gwydion said. "When I came to him and asked why I was not called to take down the Lord of Annuvin once and for good."

"Ambitious duckling," Achren said. "I once felt that way myself."

"It was not for me to do, Dallben told me," Gwydion went on. "He told me that in order for Arawn's hold over Prydain to be loosed, the three great treasures of Prydain must be reunited, and that such an event would be brought about by to a lad of no parentage...and the last enchantress."

Achren nodded. "Even at the height of my greatness, those three treasures eluded me," she sighed. "I know that now, though when I was more arrogant I might have thought I possessed at least the one: Knowledge."

"Without truth and love, knowledge has no power," Gwydion agreed.

"I have been alone for many years," Achren said, and then opened her mouth, as though that wasn't exactly what she'd meant to say. Instead she coughed and bowed her head, and her dark hair hung across her brow and cheeks. Gwydion, quite to his own surprise, found himself reaching up to brush a shock of hair away and tuck it behind her ear.

"I too," said Gwydion. "I have long believed it to be my fate."

Her smile returned, though her eyes shone with tears. "But we command our own fates, do we not?"

"Indeed," he said, and returned her smile. "And yet, you have still not told me why I cannot return the Princess Eilonwy to the arms of her family. Are there no enchantresses in Caer Colur who can school this child?" he asked.

A cloud covered Achren's face, passing as she rose to open the mahogany chest and remove from it a small, leatherbound book. She set it in Gwydion's hands without a word.

"It's blank," he remarked, thumbing through the pages. "A lovely keepsake, I'm certain, but what does --"

"It isn't blank," said Achren, sitting again. "On its pages are written the greatest enchantments of Prydain itself, capable of being harnessed only by a true enchantress of royal blood. Even the words cannot be seen except when the child passes the light from her bauble across the pages, and still they are in a language so old that it is known to almost none -- save for me. I alone can teach Eilonwy the skills of her power, and I alone can assure that she reaches the full limits of her potential to become the most powerful enchantress this land has ever seen. And believe me, Prince of Don, to bring down Arawn, she shall need it."

Gwydion was silent. Achren's words rang with her own ambitions. It was clear she desired to be close to this child, but whether purely for the her own desire to enhance the child's demonstrated skill or for a deeper, more parental love, Gwydion could not yet say. Before he could make his mind up one way or the other, Lorga returned, scowling.

"Supper time, milady," she said to Achren. "And bedtime for the wee one, I'm afraid."

Achren looked at Gwydion. "A moment," she said to Lorga. To Gwydion, she said, "What would you do, Prince, steal this girl from her bed in the dark of night?"

At this, Eilonwy scurried over to Achren and wrapped her arms around the woman's legs. "I'm staying," said Eilonwy.

Gwydion sighed, but nodded. "Take the child to bed," he said to Lorga.

"And you shall stay and have supper with me," said Achren. "Unless you're in a hurry to leave and tell the good Queen Angaharad that you will not be returning her child to Caer Colur."

"Not in the least," said Gwydion. "And I shall join you for supper, but only to allow you to realize that you cannot keep this child, and why it is best that she be returned to her parents."

"So you say," said Achren, coming to her feet. Her robe draped around her like some dark liquid, and Gwydion stood up and followed her down the corridor, past the entry hall and into the great banquet room for an intimate supper for two.

The setup proved inconvenient; Achren was used to dining by herself, or with Eilonwy, and sat at a smaller table in the kitchen when they did. This hall was meant for hosting great lords and battle leaders, and Gwydion found he could scarcely be heard when he spoke down the length of the long table. As a result they ate in silence, but the food, for all else, was magnificent.

After dinner they retired to another antechamber, this one two stories up and overlooking the forest, which was dark as pitch. Gwydion lent a thought to Melyngar and trusted she would keep herself warm.

Achren brought out port, and Gwydion found he was disinclined to refuse it, whether for the hour or the company he could not be sure. It had been a long day, and he faced the kind of decision that one often requires a bit of lubrication to bring about. Besides, he realized, if he was not leaving the castle without Eilonwy, which he wasn't, and if he was not going to wake the child from her slumber, which he also wasn't, he'd be here for the night. Sitting vigil, certainly, but a bit of port seemed well-deserved.

Achren threw herself down in a deep, soft chair, and rocked her head back to rest it on the velvet pillow. Gwydion, after some consideration, took the chair opposite, his eyes trained on the enchantress.

"You are young," she murmured, sitting straighter so she could take a sip of her drink. "You don't know any other world than this."

Gwydion nodded. When he was born, Arawn already held power in Annuvin, and the Sons of Don were already losing good men and warriors in the cause of fighting it. "I have heard tales," he said. "From the people of the Free Commots. They talk about tools that could produce amazing and magnificent work, stolen by Arawn."

"All the great objects of power were stolen," Achren said. "Only a few, like the Pelydryn and the book, remain. The great sword Dyrnwyn is among those Arawn does not possess, but it has been lost to the ages. And, of course, Dallben shall always have the Book of Three. Some Fair Folk have magical objects that they've managed to secure, and their books and potions are squirreled somewhere out of Arawn's reach, but aside from that, they are all in Annuvin, locked up in a cache so deeply hidden even I do not know its location."

"It's unthinkable," Gwydion said, his anger rising. "All that knowledge, that craftsmanship and artistry, that great magic, in the hands of Arawn."

"It is a tragedy, is what it is," Achren said heavily. "I had a book of spells that controlled the elements," she said. "I had a charm that could stop time. Gone, all of it, to _Annuvin_."

"I understood that you maintain allegiance with Arawn," Gwydion said. "Are you suggesting this is not the case?"

Achren spat. "I wouldn't go near that wretched snake for all the power and all the spellbooks in the world. He is _evil._ "

Gwydion sank back into his chair, sipped at his drink, and thought.

None of this was coming along as he'd planned. For one thing, Eilonwy certainly didn't seem to want to leave, which was an obstacle he hadn't considered. And for another, though the port and the dinner could be contributing to his impression, Spiral Castle wasn't nearly the horrible place he'd expected it to be. Achren and her staff seemed to live comfortably here, and they certainly couldn't be accused of not having enough suitable room set up for the child. But at the heart of it, Achren's motivations still eluded him, and until he knew just what she intended to do with the babe, he would not entertain the notion of leaving the child here.

"What _do_ you want?" He asked, finally.

She didn't answer for a long while, and when she finally looked at him there were tears in her eyes, and she fought to keep them from falling. "To be who I am," she whispered. "With others. Like me. Like Eilonwy. For us to fulfill our potential, to be as powerful as we can be, with objects of power and spells -- to rejoice in learning. With her."

Achren was lonely. He could understand, could even imagine longing for the day he'd get to meet this famed pig-keeper, to possibly bestow some wisdom upon the lad, and to enjoy the adventure of the boy fated to be king. "I know," he said. "I feel it too. I want to be part of it as well. Part of anything that will bring Arawn down."

"This child can," Achren whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "I can sense only a tenth of her power and already I know, she is something else. She is love, and truth, and knowledge all together."

"Something we will never know," he sighed.

"Through them -- those who will decide the future," she said. "We can love them."

"You do love her."

"As if she were my own," Achren said.

Gwydion had a thought. "What if I were to take the child, but leave you the book and the sphere?"

Achren's face went tight, but after a moment she spoke. "The treasures of the House of Llyr are Eilonwy's by right. Without her, I cannot use them. And yet --"

Gwydion interrupted, full of sudden anger and a strange pang of disappointment. "Your true motivation appears at last, Queen! You keep the girl only because you wish to harness her powers for your own agenda!" He had risen to his feet and now was staring down at her in her chair. He stopped to catch the breath his fury had stolen.

"And yet --," Achren continued, unshaken by his outburst, and earnest. "Were you to offer the opposite, to take the charms and leave the child, I would accept your bargain in a minute."

Gwydion relaxed at her words. "I doubt the House of Llyr would agree to that," he said.

"I love her," Achren went on. "And I can no more use her powers to suit my agenda, whatever that may be, as I could _become_ her. And I have an unpleasant enough time becoming a toad, thank you. She commands the Pelydryn, not the other way around. It responds to her love, her honesty, her wishes. No," she sighed, a heavy sound that made Gwydion sigh too. "I'm afraid I'm far too corrupt for such sacred magic."

Gwydion seated himself on the edge of her armchair, and touched her shoulder. "Perhaps not as corrupt as your propaganda suggests," he smiled.

"I have powerful allies," she smiled back. "Friends in influential places."

"Me too," Gwydion mused. "Wonder if we have any friends in common?"

Now Achren laughed, a sound so unlikely and so frightening that Gwydion stumbled to his feet, nearly spilling his drink on his shoes. It was a lovely, musical sound, and immediately he wanted to hear it again.

"Do you know King Smoit?" Achren giggled.

"We've met on many occasions," Gwydion said. "Don't tell me he's in league with _you_?"

"His man of horse is a friend of mine," Achren said. "Once every five years we meet and have a week's affair on an island off the coast."

"You do not," Gwydion said, but Achren was licking her lip.

"I most certainly do. And said man of horse has been known to slip me information about any enchantments or magical objects he might be aware of, as well as news of Annuvin. Oh, I get what the couriers send me but I don't trust half of what I read, so I like to have a source higher up."

"Like a man of horse in a central western cantrev?"

"Sometimes," Achren says. "He is not the only one. Do you know Taliesin?"

"I have never had the privilege of meeting him, though I honor and respect him tremendously. You know him?"

"We meet, at times. We usually argue."

"About what?" Gwydion asked, settling for the ottoman at the foot of Achren's chair to sit upon.

"Politics, magic, the wonder of human behavior, the secrets of the forest creatures. The secrets of kings?"

Gwydion rested his chin in his hand. Taliesin, Chief Bard of Prydain, was known to be one of the wisest and most learned men in the land. That he would discuss such matters, in spirited debate, with Achren! Gwydion marveled.

His life would change that night, had changed, already, from the moment he saw Eilonwy coax magic from the depths of a dull, brass bedpost. The world was not how he had known it, conquered by soldiers with swords and armies with legions on horseback. The world, when blackened by evil, could not be cured by hate, but by love. A love which had changed Achren as well. Where before she had been in darkness, Gwydion could see that the light of the bauble had coaxed some light inside Achren too. And if it could do that, perhaps it could conquer Annuvin.

"It's an amazing thing, love," Achren said, again, reading his thoughts.

Gwydion looked up at her, into her deep, inky eyes. "Have you ever been in love?" he asked.

She tossed her hair, dismissing him. "Once," she said. "I thought it was love. I was a child."

Gwydion nodded.

"You?"

"There was a girl, at my father's court. But it was as you said. We were children, playing. Nothing more."

Achren stood up, knee to knee with Gwydion, who pushed the ottoman aside so he could stand and face her. "Eilonwy's different," Achren said. "The love I feel from her, it's beyond --"

"I know," said Gwydion, and he touched Achren's shoulder again. "I feel it too."

"Well then, listen," Achren said, decisively. "If you're to be spending the night anyway, and I gather that you are, why don't you join me in my chambers and we can see if we can't get a bit of that closeness humans crave so much."

Gwydion recoiled. "Are you taunting me, Lady?"

Her face was soft. "No," she murmured. "Just saying that I am tired, and have much to do with my dear pupil tomorrow, so I shall be retiring to bed. You are more than welcome to sleep on any one of these sofas, if that appeals to you, or there is a wing of guest chambers just one floor above us. My chambers are the floor above that, and I just thought we were adults, speaking honestly. I understand that I was wrong."

"You are evil," Gwydion whispered. Even to his ears, it sounded less like protest than acquiescence.

"Not now," Achren said, drawing away. "Not when I'm with her."

"Nor when you're with me, apparently," Gwydion said, following her up the stairs.

"We are lonely people, warrior," she hissed, hiking up her skirts to take the stairs more quickly. "Lonely people who have no place in this world but to serve."

"And how is our indulging our carnal desires going to help us serve our causes our our kingdoms?"

At the landing, she stopped, and let him catch up. "It won't," she exhaled. "But it will be fun. And it will be closeness. And it will be a small moment's comfort in a cold, dark world."

He was close to her, close enough to put a hand on the wall beside her and pin her there, staring down. "If you are playing at something --"

She sighed again, and laid a hand on his chest. He breathed, feeling her fingers move. He did nothing. "You are a beautiful, agile man with eyes that could melt any woman or terrify any foe, you are a servant of your destiny, as I am, and your commitment to your cause, and your love for this child, have found me quite intrigued. I would touch you, Lord Gwydion. I do not wish to marry you, nor return to your kingdom a kept woman. But as I am to remain here until this child has full mastery of all magic known in Prydain, I feel a dalliance is earned. If you disagree, as I said, sleep where you wish."

Gwydion kissed her. He leaned in, put his lips to hers, and kissed her, and found soon she was kissing him back, and then nudging him up the stairs, and down the hall, and into her bedroom, where she shut the door behind them.

When he woke, it was morning, Achren was nowhere to be seen, and he was half naked in a bed made with soft sheets and thick downy counterpanes that smelled crisp and clean. He woke suddenly, alerted to something that, at the time, struck him as unusual.

_"Take care of her," Angaharad had said. "She's a gift. To all of us."_

Angaharad had not said "bring her back." In fact, she seemed to know Eilonwy's fate, and to know that Eilonwy's destiny was bigger than her home life in Caer Colur. "Take care of her," she had said, and that was worse, somehow, because now it was to Gwydion to decide if staying with Achren was the right choice for the girl, and whether it would expose her to danger, or keep her safe from it.

"Get up," said Achren, sticking her head around the doorway. "There's breakfast to eat, and then I suppose you'll want to watch this morning's classes. Eilonwy's trained several butterflies to dance, although she quite insists they'd rather perform in a larger arena than we have available."

Gwydion hurried to put on his clothes, and he came across the letter, sworn and signed by High King Math. "Achren --" he called.

She came back after a moment.

"I have a letter here from the High King himself," he said. "Ordering that I bring the child back to Caer Colur. I cannot defy a direct order."

"What does your heart say?" Achren asked.

"My heart," Gwydion mused, trying to sort what was true from what was colored by last night's events, and ultimately coming to the conclusion he had all along. "Says that the child belongs here with you. I trust that you will care for her, I trust that you truly love her, and more importantly, I trust that her power is greater than yours, and should there come a time when you would try and bend her to your will, I trust that she will have the power to _bring you down_."

Achren nodded. "Everything you say is true."

"I also know," Gwydion went on. "That Queen Angaharad knows of her daughter's incredible destiny. When I left Caer Colur, she told me to take care of the child, and that she was a gift...to all of us. And if I am to choose the best way to care for this child, I believe in my heart that she should stay here."

Achren handed him a cup of hot bark tea, bracing him for the morning and for his hard task ahead. Never before had he disobeyed an order, countermanded or gainsaid any of the wishes of his kinsmen. But somehow he thought that King Math knew this would end this way, that the child would continue her education at Spiral Castle and the world would spin on.

Gwydion was right, and the High King spoke with him in private consult.

"You have survived a tough trial," the King said. "I would not have trusted a weaker man in your position. That is why I sent you to speak with Angaharad in the first place."

"You knew I would decide to defy you?" Gwydion asked in astonishment.

"I counted on it," the King said. "For you are true of heart and noble of spirit, and more importantly, you serve Prydain over any man. That is what has made you great, Prince of Don."

"Do you think I made the right choice?" Gwydion asked. "Rather, do you believe the child will be safe in Spiral Castle?"

"I believe we shall see," said the High King. "She may leave on her own, once she's old enough. I have found that there are many things in the world that are difficult to predict, and then some things that are nearly impossible to predict. Among the latter, I would list the behaviour of a young enchantress with a headstrong nature. In time, we shall see."

And so they would, but along the way Arawn would continue to savage the land, bringing forth more and more vicious war lords to lead his scavenging bands. Before Gwydion would ever meet the young pig-keeper, Arawn's armies had already begun to lay seige in earnest, razing farmland and innocent lives in their path. Achren proved unable to resist her darkest temptations, but the girl Eilonwy did grow up to become just as headstrong as the High King Math had suggested, and she did leave the castle on her own, to embrace her destiny, or to change it as she saw fit.

But that is another story.


End file.
